Another rash of "I got sober aren't I wonderful" books are coming out. Hitting shelves next week is "High Sobriety: Confessions of a Drinker" by Alice King. It is described by the publisher as a "shocking true story of a love affair with alcohol and its terrible consequences."
Ms. King, a wine writer (no, really? And she developed a problem? Wow!), details her descent into hell. From a promotional blurb: "By the time she found herself regularly waking up at 4:35 in the morning, vomiting into the kitchen sink, and wondering what had happened to the bottle of vodka that had been full when she came home the previous evening but was now mysteriously empty, she realized she had a problem. She needed a drink."
Hey, I'm glad she stopped drinking. But I'm a little tired of this genre. I read a lot of these books before I got sober. The only one worth a damn was Caroline Knapp's "Drinking: A Love Story." Most of these books romanticize the drinking and drugging and debauchery while pretending to be salvation stories. Or the writer is full of shit, like James Frey. Knapp's book was straight ahead without pretension or the lethal combination of I was so fucked up and now I'm so wonderful elements that fill so many of these pour me books.
But that's not really my beef. Many of the people who write these books do it soon after they clean up. How about you get some real time straight before sharing your experience, strength and hope with us? Even Knapp was relatively new to sobriety when she cranked out her book. Good thing in her case since she ultimately was taken by cigarettes.
I know, I know. Rambler, (I'm told some people get a kick out of me addressing myself in the third person) if one person is helped then it's all worth it. And maybe there is something to be said for that. However, all the reading I did about other people's bottoms didn't do shit for me except make me anticipate writing my own book and take their inventory.
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10 comments:
Good Lord. I know what you mean.
I actually have Caroline Knapp's "Drinking: A Love Story" up on my bookshelf. I didn't get passed the first chapter or two. Maybe I'll give it another look, but I'm with you.
Do we really need more validation?
I can't stand listening at meetings half the time.
I think these books should be read by thrill-seekers.
pour me! love it.
It's been my observation that a lot of alcoholics enjoy the drama (not to mention the stories) that comes with being an alcoholic. Who wants to be some schlub who occasionally drinks too much when you can self-diagnose yourself as an alcoholic? Let's face it, a malignant melanoma doesn't give you the same platform as AA or these How I Got Sober books to tell your story.
I thought the Knapp book suffered from this tendency. As soon as she mentioned she was an English major, I was instantly suspicious of her motives (even her drunk stories failed to convince me that she was truly alcoholic). But, who am I to judge, right? She perceived she had a drinking problem and she did what she had to to fix it. I'm all for that. But I don't think I'll ever feel the need to read any more of these books because you already know there's a built-in happy ending. I'll stick to Intervention where you never know how it's going to turn out in the end.
love it when the Rambler self-references!
Well, we disagree on Knapp. She didn't need to lose a house, a husband, a family or kill someone or get a DWI to hit bottom. Her life was unmanageable because of drinking. One needn't wait until they're Otis the town drunk to stop. Sure, maybe something bad didn't happen every time she drank, but every time something bad happened, she'd been drinking.
a cheever cock-tale does it better, with just the right degree of self loathing.
"Otis, the town drunk" would do well have a book on the way. 'Gutter Struggles' by Otis Schlub, TTD.
And wouldn't it be a comfort for an alcholic or someone who wants to understand one, to gleen from the written words of a published author like Richard Yates, rest his soul, per say?
we've already discussed this, but like I said--if I were you, I'd get typin'! Money, money, money!
(oh, and, "pour me"? Budweisian slip, perhaps?
pour me was indeed intentional.
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